Page 95 of Something Like Fate

“I absolutely did. Coldplay is basically required listening for an existential crisis.”

He’s not wrong. It weirdly suits my mood. I start singing, entirely out of tune.

He smiles and we sing in unison, humming the “Ooohhhh ohh ohh oh ohhhhhh” part until our voices grow hoarse. Eventually, we run out of breath and fall back in the sand in a fit of giggles, staring up at the glittering sky.

Teller taps my pinkie with his. “Well, we should probably head back,” he whispers.

I latch my pinkie around his, both our eyes glancing down at our tattoos. “Can we stay? Just five more minutes?”

We stay for ten.

I soak it all in, every second. The sound of the water lapping against the sand. The distant squawk of birds. The buzz of traffic. The grainy sand in my hair, my neck, down the back of my shirt. The way he looks at me with that quintessential Teller half grin I tried so hard to capture in our painting class.

I want to remember it. Savor it. Because after he goes home, things won’t ever be the same.

35

Being on a catamaran with your soulmate and your best friend you hooked up with and also might be in love with is awkward. There’s no way around it.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s a gorgeous day—not a cloud in the vast sky—or maybe it’s the delicious seafood the crew is serving (not pasta), but Teller has fully embraced Caleb. Not that he was ever a jerk to him, but they gravitated toward other people when we were traveling in a bigger group. Today, they’re fishing, playing cards, and bonding over their shared love of eighties synth music.

If I know Teller, this is his way of showing me he accepts Caleb. He’s making an effort to really get to know him. I didn’t know how much I needed his approval until now. Caleb’s even teaching him how to snorkel. I expect Teller to decline and explain his fear of open water, but he enthusiastically slaps on a pair of goggles, shirks the life jacket I offer, and follows Caleb down the ladder. I watch from the safety of the trampoline net, ready to dive in should Teller require assistance, though he seems to be holding his own. The two of them don’t seem to need me at all, in fact.

There’s a gentle, warm breeze on the spacious deck. We huddle, basking in the sound of the waves slapping against the hull. Mei and Dad chat with our captain, who goes by Frosty and is keen on doling out homemade limoncello shots. Every so often, they clamber to getphotos in front of the mansions that speckle the rugged shoreline, as well as the odd mountain goat.

By midafternoon, Frosty docks at Marina Grande, where we take a few hours to stroll around the island of Capri. The piazzetta feels fancy, with its posh boutiques; it’s a contrast to the beachwear shops of Positano. After a jaunt in the Gardens of Augustus, Dad, Mei, and Teller opt for a quick tour of the Church of San Michele. Caleb and I head back to the boat for more swimming. Caleb tries to teach me the proper technique for a butterfly stroke, but I’m in my head, psyching myself up to tell him I’m going to stay. Logically, I know he asked me to, but after the whole leaving-me-in-Florence situation, he still makes me nervous.

I finally blurt out, “I’m staying.” I hold my breath to gauge his reaction.

The sunshine sparkles over the crystal-clear water, making his eyes appear a vibrant shade of turquoise. “What? That’s amazing,” he says enthusiastically. “And your dad is okay with it?”

“I haven’t told him yet. I’m going to. Later today.” Truth be told, I’ve been hard-core avoiding the discussion. I already know how it’s going to go.

“What will we do?” I ask Caleb.

His eyes light up. “I’ve always wanted to go up north. To the Dolomites. Though we don’t even have to stay in Italy. We could go anywhere we want.” It’s a wild feeling, having the whole world at our fingertips—well, on a very strict budget.

“I still can’t believe we ran into each other,” I say, spinning around to take in the view. We’re surrounded by megayachts and beautiful boats and everything just feels perfect.

“Yeah, I guess we have Teller to thank for that.”

My arms freeze. “Teller?” I ask, midcough.What does Teller have to do with this?

His lips part. “Teller reached out a few days ago and told me you guys were heading to Positano. He told me where you’d be staying. He was pretty straight up—said I was an asshole for leaving you in Florenceand that I owed you an explanation. That I’d be a total tool for passing up an opportunity to be with someone like you. He was completely right.”

I clutch the ladder hanging off the side of the boat, trying to stay afloat. “Wait. Teller reached out to you? Are you serious?”

He eyes me, the lines between his brows creased with confusion. “You didn’t know that?”

“I thought ...” I think back to that day, coming out of the store with our ugly-ass muumuus, hearing Caleb’s voice call my name over the breeze. “I thought we just randomly ran into each other.”

He snaps his head back. “No, definitely not. Have you seen the crowds? I’m shocked I found you as is. He emailed me when you guys were in Tuscany. I just happened to be using a friend’s laptop to Zoom with my mom when I got his message.”

“What day was this?”

“He sent it Sunday morning.”

Sunday morning. The morning after we’d hooked up. I think back to how distracted he was when I found him on the balcony.

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